It's a Small World
by Kelaine729
Summary: Milah's afterlife.


**Note:** I do not own Once. I am also a bad person for even writing this. Also, I like Disneyland and Disney World and Epcot. What I did with them is a very bad thing. I'm really, really sorry. Except I'm not.

X

 _It's a small world after all,_

 _It's a small world after all,_

 _It's a small world after all_

 _It's a small, small world._

Milah could barely hear her boss yelling at her over the sound the five, screaming quintuplets made. Each one of them had had enough ice cream, pizza, and chili-cheese fries to feed the whole set and maybe ten or so extra. Then, they'd all gone on the Matterhorn ride. The results were plastered across the sidewalk in the not-so-happiest place on Earth.

Her boss wanted to know why she'd let this happen, why she hadn't cleaned it up yet, and **why** were these children **still crying?** Milah tried to distract the children with stuffed toys, balloons, and name-brand clothes with a smiling mouse blazoned all over them. The children dropped them all in the mess Milah was trying to clean.

"That's coming out of your salary, Milah!" her boss yelled. "Hurry up! There's work to do! What is wrong with you?"

Every day was the same. Milah started at the Canada end of Epcot. Children yelled and were sick. Parents and bosses yelled at her. Teenage boys and young men laughed at how dowdy and old she looked in her park uniform.

Somehow, the uniforms that always looked so crisp and dazzling on everyone else looked ragged and poor on her. "Is that a nun?" she heard one of the boys snicker as he went past her. "She looks more like a bag lady."

 _It's a world of laughter, a world of tears,_

 _It's a world of hopes and a world of fears_

 _There's so much that we share that it's time we're aware_

 _It's a small world after all._

People seemed to be constantly telling her to hurry up. "Why can't you be good at running?" they asked as she stumbled into another clean-up, making her uniform even worse. She wanted to sneak away and change, but the boss always seemed to be there, glaring at her.

"There are rules about staying in uniform, Milah," he growled.

The flowers in the gardens at Canada always made her sneeze and break out in hives ("Stop scratching, Milah! Maintain a professional pose at all times!"). The United Kingdom was always raining. People at the pub spilled beer and ale on her, but she never got to drink any. France was full of people telling her she was stupid and English. It was the only place she ever seemed to have a chance to eat, but it was always snails—snails who looked like they'd been stomped on multiple times before getting a drizzling of rancid oil and being dropped (cold and under-cooked) on her plate.

The rest of the kingdoms were even worse. Had there ever been a time when she'd actually wanted to see the world? Now, she had to rush through it every day, cleaning as she went while one disaster after another followed her. The boss always seemed to be right behind her, yelling at her for what she had or hadn't done.

When she finally collapsed into the break room (she couldn't find the food she'd brought and the only thing anyone else had left was an open bottle of soda with flies crawling out of it), the TV was on a news channel. ". . . . after being given up for lost, the heroic multi-billionaire, Mr. Gold, has been found alive," the newscaster said.

 _Gold?_

Milah looked at the screen, not believing what she'd just heard. But, it was him. Her husband—her _ex-_ husband was on television. They were doing a brief recap of his life as a self-made multi-billionaire, finishing up with the story of how he had heroically sacrificed himself to save hundreds, only to turn up alive and well.

A woman appeared on screen. She was younger and prettier—much prettier—than Milah. Reporters surrounded her, asking questions.

"Mrs. Gold, how does it feel to go from being an honored widow to knowing your husband is alive?"

"Mrs. Gold," another, more weasely looking one said. "Rumor has it your husband made you give up your career as a super-model when you married him. Isn't there any disappointment in finding out he's alive?"

The young ( _really_ young) woman's eyes flashed. "My husband has always supported me in my goals and my dreams," she said. "My career gave me wonderful opportunities, including the opportunity to help many of the charities I believe in. When we married, he set up a trust fund so I no longer had to choose between the making time to do a cover shoot for Vogue or not having the money for aiding the poor and homeless.

"As for how I feel, there's nothing to compare to knowing the man I love has come home safe to me."

"Mrs. Gold, how does it feel to be married to a hero?"

She smiled (it was a much prettier smile than Milah had ever had. She had seen it several times on more magazine covers than she could count). "My husband has always been my hero," she said. "I've always known that."

Before Milah could start screaming, someone changed the channel to a talk show. She was about to breathe a sigh of relief, till she saw who the guest of the week was: Killian Jones.

"Soiled goods?" the host was saying. "Isn't that a bit harsh, Captain? After all, didn't she run off with you?"

"Hey, if I'd known what I was getting, I'd have kicked her off before we were out of the harbor. Do you have any idea how emotionally needy that woman was? And talk about an awful excuse for a human being. She locked up a five year old child in the house with an open fire while she went off and got drunk."

The audience booed.

Killian nodded. "I know, right? Fortunately, I'm a much better person with deep wells of character I finally delved into once I got rid of that weight around my neck. Wow, I didn't know how much she was dragging me down till she was gone."

The host looked unconvinced. "Really, Captain? And what proof do you have that you have so much more depth than your ex-girlfriend?"

Killian looked sage and wise. "That's a fair question. I have to be honest. I used to be rotten to the core. My life was in pieces. But, now," he paused dramatically. " _I'm dating a_ _ **BLONDE!**_ I'm telling you I'm a changed man!"

The audience cheered.

The host was still a hard sell. "Dating a blonde, Captain? Really? That's all you've got to say for yourself?"

"I'm a man of few words," Killian said. "Fortunately, I don't need many." He pulled out a photo of Milah. " _This_ is what I used to think I wanted."

The audience groaned and made gagging noises.

He pulled out another. "But, _this_ is what I've got now."

The woman was younger—and blonder—than Milah. The crowd cheered. They started doing the wave. The host stood up and shook Killian's hand. "Captain, I misjudged you. That is the most amazing story of personal transformation I have ever heard."

"I know, right?" Killian said. "And a barely even had to stalk her before she'd go out with me."

The host wiped away a tear. "You're an inspiration to us all."

" **MILAH!** _ **"**_ the boss yelled. "Your break was over ten seconds ago! Where are you!? I've got octuplets tearing down the orchard in Italy!"

Milah ran out just in time to have octuplets with the flu all be sick on her.

In the back ground, she heard _It's a Small World_ playing again.

"What did I do to deserve this?" she said.

For a moment, she thought of life in a simple village and the husband and child she'd been only too happy to walk away from. _I want to see the world_ , she'd told them.

She remembered a dark shadow sitting in a judge's place, looking down on her. "The difference between Hell and Purgatory is a simple one," he had told her. "They are the same. But, souls in Purgatory learn from their time there. They repent and give up their sins. Hell is the home of those who hold onto them. That is what weighs them down and makes it impossible for them to leave."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Milah shouted. "It was Rumple—It was Killian—I had a right to go after what I wanted!"

The judge looked down at her. "No matter the cost to anyone else?"

"Who cares about them? It was _my_ life. I did what I wanted with it!"

The memory faded. The eight children screamed for toys and presents and all the sorts of things Milah had wanted when she was their age—the things she still had a right to, that she _deserved._

"Milah!" her boss yelled. "Why haven't you fixed this yet? What is your problem?"

 _What is my problem?_ For a moment, she seemed to grasp another question behind that. But, the moment passed.

 _I don't deserve this,_ Milah thought. _I don't deserve any of this._

For a moment, all the screams seemed to stop. Milah heard laughter in its place, fiendish laughter. The children weren't children anymore. Their goat-like eyes glowed beneath their horns, and Milah caught a glimpse of cloven tracks in the mess they had made on the sidewalk.

 _Though the mountains divide_

 _And the oceans are wide_

 _It's a small world after all._


End file.
